Am I Crazy?
by CommanderSnuggles
Summary: Things were supposed to be looking up for Brittany S. Pierce. She was going to start a career as a professional genius and get her girlfriend back. That's how it's supposed to be, isn't it?


Just a short note at the beginning:

Usual Disclaimer; I don't own Glee or any of its characters.

It's a one-shot, follows the series' events up to 4x22/5x01. It's inspired by Rebecca Lavelle's "Am I crazy", hence the title.

I would be really grateful for some kind of Feedback, since this is the first time I publish one of my stories :)

Enjoy.

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><p><strong>Am I Crazy ?<strong>

It was meant to be the start of a new, better time. It was meant to fix things that couldn't be fixed before because of bad timing, stupid boys, long distances and creepy 'energy exchanges'.

To Brittany, MIT looked like a perfect, well-timed opportunity to right all the wrongs of a relationship that was simply meant to be. She'd be significantly closer to her best friend slash soulmate slash Santana.

Things were supposed to be looking up for Brittany S. Pierce. She was going to start a career as a professional genius and get her girlfriend back.

At least, that was how it was supposed to go.

* * *

><p>The first thing that made her suspect she would not yet be living her dream was the way her fellow students treated her when she first arrived on campus to move her stuff into her dorm room.<p>

While she had been a trendsetter at McKinley, the people at MIT didn't really seem to get her sense of fashion and looked more amused than impressed of her attire. She noticed people staring and whispering with each other. It was certainly not the welcome she'd hoped for.

Then she met her roomie. Her name was Chloe, she was two years senior Brittany, incredibly smart and almost finished with her studies. Sometimes she tended to remind her of Rachel with her loud voice and self-centeredness. Like, that girl literally spent two hours in the room's en-suite bathroom before classes to fix her hair, put on her make-up and make sure she looks like a Glinda 2.0. When Brittany once asked her if she could just come in to brush her teeth because she was running late, Chloe promptly called her out on her 'selfishness', because 'the world doesn't stop turning because Brittany Pierce can't figure out what time to get up'. From that day on, Brittany preferred not talking with her roommate at all.

Things with Chloe got even worse when she started inviting her boyfriend over to their room. Whenever they were left alone, because Chloe got ready in the bathroom or went to fetch some notes from classmates, he'd start flirting with Brittany. You know, a little chatter at first, trying to be really smooth. She thought he was cute at first, trying to be nice to his girlfriends' roomie or something. But he became bolder over time, trying to win her over with vomit-inducing phrases like 'If you're feeling down, I can fill you up'. She went from ignoring to avoiding him as best as she could. After a particularly hard week and another fair share of 'Let us let only latex stand between our love's, she decided to show him her inner Snix.

"You know what? I think your excessive tries to chat me up are just made to conceal your – from what I've heard – barely existent manhood. So, how about you just go home and find out how to make a girl moan about something other than overdosing aftershave and telling annoying stories about fishing trips with your grandfather."

It wasn't exactly going Lima Heights on his ass, but it was enough to make him huff, storm out of the room and never return. Well. It wasn't her smartest move, obviously, because this had caused some serious boyfriend-drama for Chloe, who, in turn, thanked Brittany by spreading the word about her being a jealous, homewrecking bitch.

So, college life hadn't exactly gone according to her plan, admittedly. But she still had a beautiful girl, who also happened to be her soulmate, near. A person who was always willing to protect her from all the evil in the world. At least that was what she'd thought.

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><p>The first meeting with Santana was in New York. It was a random weekend at the beginning of summer, Brittany was not swamped with work and had spontaneously decided to buy a ticket and hop on a train to New York. In hindsight, she should have called beforehand and, you know, asked for Santana's permission or if she even had time for her. But the decision had been made in the heat of the moment and just the thought of spending a warm summer weekend with Santana made her remember all those weekends spent together in Lima. It had always been like this; one of them would come to the others' house unannounced but be invited in nevertheless. Brittany supposed now wouldn't be any different. Days, weeks, months had drifted by, but at the end they were Brittany and Santana. Everything would be the same.<p>

* * *

><p>Except it wasn't.<p>

She wanted to surprise Santana. Stand under her window, throw pebbles against the glass, Santana would poke her head out and ask Brittany up (or maybe Brittany would ring the doorbell and ask Santana to let her in; she wasn't quite sure what Hummelberrytana's apartment looked like, or if it even had windows).

So she stepped out of the train and followed her self-made street-map to the tube, which should have taken her to her destination in about 25 minutes.

Unfortunately, she'd somehow missed her stop and when she wanted to take the tube right back, she got into another line because everything was just really stuffed and busy and confusing and... Long story short: The ride stretched to a nearly 2-hour-long Odyssey.

But after that, Brittany didn't stray from her path again and reached the loft's door at 10 pm sharp, a bouquet of sunflowers (because they were Santana's favorites) in one hand, her duffel with some spare clothes in the other.

Her nerves were really getting to her. She'd touch Santana again for the first time in almost four months; she'd hear her voice and see her smile without having to rely on Skype or FaceTime. It was so exciting. She'd rarely felt more alive than in that moment. So she knocked on the door. And knocked. And knocked.

But nobody answered.

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><p>Okay. So she should have planned this a little more thoroughly. It was Friday night. She shouldn't have expected her friends (and Rachel) to be home at 10, no, 10:30 on a Friday night. But the damage was done. She was there in New York City, standing in front of the locked door of an empty apartment, sunflowers and duffel in her hands, so what could she do, really ? She tried calling Kurt. Mailbox. She tried calling Santana. Not answering her phone. She tried calling Kurt again. Still mailbox. Then she tried calling Rachel. Also not answering her phone. What were the chances ? Jeez. Sometimes life was so unfair.<p>

But so what? What's that saying again, 'when life gives you lemons, make lemonade'. This was _so_ lemons. But she was Brittany S. Pierce and she would make a lemonade that would put Coca-Cola, Mountain Dew and whatever-their-names-were to shame.

So she waited. Seconds, minutes, hours. This was the home of three people. One of them had to come home sooner or later. Brittany hoped it was rather sooner than later, because sitting on a duffel bag in front of a loft on a Friday night in NYC is really not a fun way to spend your time. But hey, if that's what it takes to get Santana back, she'd gladly wait some hours more.

And she did.

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><p>"Fucking drunks. Can't even get to their apartments anymore." Brittany stirred from a light slumber when she heard a familiar voice cursing. "And then, of course, they need to block the entire fucking hall. God." Rubbing her eyes and opening them slowly, she saw the outline of a figure carefully stepping over her. It was still dark in the hall. She must have somehow managed to fall asleep right by the loft's door, audibly complicating entering it without knocking into her to some extent. But she's way too tired to explain the situation. She just needs – <em>wait.<em>

"Santana ?" It comes out as a hoarse whisper. "Is that you ?" Brittany squinted her eyes, trying to make out the person by the apartment door.

Silence. Then, "Brittany ? Oh my god. It's nearly 2 in the morning. What are you doing here ?" The figure – Santana – turned away from the door, now probably looking down at her outlines.

"I promised you that I would come to visit. Well. Here I am, I guess." Brittany stood up slowly, stretching her arms and legs in the process. As soon as she stood there in her full height, arms were thrown around her, engulfing her in a bone-crushing hug. It lasted for only a few seconds, but it was enough to set free thousands of little butterflies in Brittany's stomach.

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><p>After the hug, Santana had invited Brittany into the loft where Brittany had handed her the sunflower and earned another hug for that.<em> Score.<em>

Turned out that Rachel and Kurt had some NYADA weekend-workshop-thingy somewhere, while Santana had a shift in the bar until 1.30 and fortunately came home after.

It was actually the first time Brittany had heard about Santana working at 'Coyote Ugly'. It's not like she was shocked or disgusted, because she herself was a stripper-drunk and comfortable with showing off her body. And Santana definitely had nothing to be ashamed about. She still couldn't help feeling a little sting when she took in Santana's shorts (that were barely covering her ass) and her tight top (which accentuated her curves just right).

Santana had problems keeping her eyes open, though, so they decided to call it a night and go to sleep. Brittany was even offered to sleep with her in her bed. Although no funny business was allowed, she agreed. She'd take anything she could get.

When the lights were turned out and the moonlight shone through the windows, illuminating Santana's figure, she snuggled close to her and silently promised to never let her go again.

"Goodnight San."

"Goodnight Britt-Britt."

Perfect.

* * *

><p>It was not until the next day, after they'd showered (separately) and taken off to have a picnic in Central Park, that Brittany noticed the little changes in Santana.<p>

She looked more mature. Like she was so much stronger now that she knows what to do with her life. She also spoke more mature.

Her sentences were longer, she used more difficult words, like Rachel does most of the time.

She looked more comfortable. Like when Brittany grabbed her hand on top of the blanket, she didn't pull away or put something on top to hide their connection.

When Brittany mixed up words, Santana wouldn't simply ignore it but correct her and explain the difference.

Or when Brittany told her about Chloe, she didn't threaten to go all Lima Heights on her, but simply answered that 'life is like that. You'll always meet assholes you can't get rid of easily.' Brittany knew that. She'd hoped for some encouraging words. Some ghetto accent just to make her smile.

It didn't come.

* * *

><p>Instead, later, when they were cuddling on the couch and watching some rom-com on TV, Santana told her about 'Dani', a girl she met in her dance class. Apparently, it was hate at first sight. What followed were weeks of trying to sabotage and outplay each others' performances until they both found out that the 'tension' between them was purely sexual. So the obvious solution was hooking up and, according to Santana, something is evolving between them.<p>

Brittany listened and faked a smile. Santana didn't realize it was fake.

She hugged her and thanked her for being the best friend anyone could ever wish for. Brittany responded with a quiet '_ditto_'. For the first time, she wasn't quite sure she meant it.

* * *

><p>Santana brought her back to the train station Sunday afternoon.<p>

Brittany had told her to stay at home and enjoy the last hours of the weekend, but Santana had insisted because the prospect of spending thirty more minutes with her best friend was more enticing than being all couch-potato.

They were awfully quiet in the tube. Just like they were awfully quiet all weekend long. And unfortunately, it wasn't a 'we don't even need words to communicate'-silence. It was more of an awkward 'no idea what to talk about'-silence.

And the worst part of it all ? When Brittany looked at Santana, she couldn't even tell if Santana knew that something felt off.

She was thankful when the speaker announced their stop.

* * *

><p>Santana didn't stray from her side, even after she'd escorted Brittany to the right track.<p>

They shared an awkward hug – one of the many things that was now awkward between them – and said their goodbyes. But when Brittany turned around to board her train, her wrist was caught by the other woman. She turned around confused.

"Is everything okay ? With us, I mean." Santana's voice was quiet, but it rang clearly in Brittany's ears.

"Of course." Brittany's answer was loud and clear, confirmed by a half-hearted smile.

"Okay." Santana doesn't seem convinced, but she lets it go. "Just wanted to make sure. You were so quiet."

"I'm just still tired. From my Homer-experience on Friday, you know. Don't worry." Brittany did her best to keep her facade. When did Santana lose the ability to call her out on her lies ?

"Right. So, everything's fine in the best-friend-corner ?"

"I guess. Or is there anything you have to say ?" Maybe Santana wanted to address the elephant in the room. Or, given their actual surrounding, on the tracks.

"Nope. Nothing to add." Brittany knew Santana was lying. She looked like she had at least some words still on her tongue. But that was Santana. Always trying to hide her inner turmoil.

In a sudden fit of boldness Brittany pressed out a simple "good to see that some things never change" between her teeth. The grip on her wrist loosened and she turned around, boarding the train instantly.

When the doors have closed and the train starts moving, she looks a last time at Santana. She doesn't miss the way she's biting her lip or kicking her feet on the ground. She doesn't miss the way one of her hands comes up to her face to wipe under her eye (_'just some dust' _was what Santana always said).

Brittany manages to hold her tears until she's a far distance away from New York.


End file.
